


Failure

by vix_spes



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Durin Family Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 19:49:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9919592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: They may have survived the battle and reclaimed Erebor, but life under the mountain isn't easy for Kíli.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time that I've tried to write anything like this and I really hope that I've done it justice. Written for a prompt at the Hobbit Kink Meme

Kíli stayed in his chambers for as long as he could, fingers simply gripping the blade in his hand, desperately fighting the urge to use the blade. Of all the times for Fíli to be away. Ever since he had discovered Kíli’s struggle during Kíli’s illness in Laketown, Fíli had done his best to help his younger brother, particularly once they were back in Erebor for good. He had encouraged Kíli to go to him whenever he felt the urge to hurt himself, and then he would distract Kíli by any means necessary; talking to him, playing games from their childhood, reading aloud, even simply holding him. It wasn’t perfect but it had helped. Kíli had grown so accustomed to Fíli being a bastion of strength that he was missing him even more than usual. It wasn’t as though his brother had gone willingly either, knowing how much Kíli was struggling at the moment. Still, Fíli was Crown Prince of Erebor and had no choice when Thorin requested that he headed the diplomatic convoy. Unfortunately, that didn’t leave very many options for Kíli to turn to tonight what with Fíli being away and their Amad still travelling with the caravans from Ered Luin. That only left him with one option: Thorin.

And of course, Thorin just happened to be the one person that Kíli didn’t want to go to. Okay, two people, but Dís wasn’t in Erebor so he didn’t have to worry about that. Thorin was the issue at the moment.

Kíli couldn’t remember his father at all and Fíli only had vague memories as Víli had died in a mining accident when they were still little dwarflings. Despite the fact that he was trying to lead their people in exile as well as working as a smith in the towns of men in an attempt to earn enough money for them to live, Thorin had stepped up to become the only father that they had ever known and they loved him even more for it. He had been there for their first words and their first steps. He had been there to chase the monsters out from under the bed, to roughhouse with them and, on occasion, to comfort them after their nightmares when their Amad wouldn’t do. It had been Thorin who had forged their first weapons and given them their first lessons in swordplay. Balin had been their primary tutor but Thorin had tutored them in what it meant to be a prince of Erebor even if they weren’t recognised as such and they were princes-in-exile. It was for this whole host of reasons that, despite their mother’s disapproval, they had volunteered themselves to join Thorin’s Company. They had wanted to try and pay back even a fraction of the support that he had given them. They had wanted to prove that they were worthy of Durin’s line, that they were worthy of being Thorin’s heirs.

For all of these reasons, Kíli couldn’t really stand the thought of going to Thorin and admitting his failure. Still, as the lure of the blade became ever more tempting so did the desire to go and admit everything to his uncle. He held out for as long as possible, but, when he came to the realisation that him giving in to the blade was inevitable, he knew that he couldn’t put it off any longer. Despite the fact that Dís had been nothing more than a dwarfling when they had fled Erebor and despite the fact that neither of her sons had been born there, it hadn’t taken Fíli or Kíli long to learn the corridors and passages of Erebor like the back of their hands. Once Smaug had been killed and the mountain taken back, Thorin, Fíli and Kíli had moved into the previous Royal Wing with Fíli and Kíli taking the suite of rooms that had once belonged to Thorin and Frerin. As a result, he didn’t have far to stumble before he reached the door to Thorin’s chambers, the ever-present guards not saying anything about his dishevelled appearance. It was only once he had knocked on the door and he could hear movement from within that he realised that he was still clutching the blade tightly in his hand. Even so, he still couldn’t quite bring himself to release it.

Of course, being Thorin, the blade was the first thing that his gaze homed in on. There was no outward reaction, at least not one that was easily discernible, but this was Thorin and Kíli could see the shock in his eyes. Even though it was fairly late, it was obvious that Thorin had not yet finished working for the evening as his room was scattered with scrolls and notes from the day’s council meetings and Kíli felt guilty at disturbing him, for being a burden. He opened his mouth but no words came out and his uncle said nothing, simply bundled everything up and left it on the desk, directing Kíli into a more comfortable chair by the fireplace.

~*~

Thorin couldn’t hold back to the growl of annoyance as he heard someone knocking on the door to his chambers. He may be back in the privacy of his own chambers but he was still working, numerous reports and pieces of correspondence that he needed to go through piled high. His frustration quickly ebbed away when he pulled the door open and saw his youngest sister-son stood there, a vacant look in his eyes and a familiar knife clutched in his hand.

Thorin ushered Kíli into his chambers and reassured the guards that there were no problems and no, they didn’t have to wake Dwalin; scribe or not, Thorin was fairly sure that Ori would be extremely unhappy with his King if he were deprived of his husband so soon after he returned home for the evening. By the time that Thorin had Kíli seated in one of the armchairs by the fire, a mug of sweetened mead in the hand that wasn’t still clenching the knife tightly, Kíli had yet to utter a single word and Thorin was more than a little bit worried.

Thorin had never made a secret of the fact that he had no intention to get married or of the fact that he saw his sister-sons as his own sons. It had been suggested that now they were back in Erebor, it might be good for Thorin to have a Queen in order to share the burden of ruling. Thorin replied that there was already a Queen under the Mountain; his sister Dís and Thorin had no intention of usurping her. A young widow herself, Dís had always been at his side and even now ruled Ered Luin in his stead until Erebor was ready to be inhabited. Just that morning the caravans of Ered Luin would start their long journey homewards to the Lonely Mountain. As Kíli refused to say anything, simply staring blankly into the fire, Thorin wished more than anything that Dís were here now to try and sort out her youngest. Or Fíli, who was pretty much the other half of Kíli. It was just disconcerting to see Kíli so quiet. He was never quiet. Even since he and Fíli had been dwarflings Kíli had been the hyper-active one, always bouncing around, asking hundreds of questions and generally making mischief while Fíli had been the more sensible of the two.

Leaning forwards, Thorin tried to get Kíli’s attention. When that failed, Thorin set about wresting the knife out of Kíli’s hand. It wasn’t easy as the lad had a death grip on it but Thorin had dealt with both Fíli and Kíli when they were teething so he had prior experience. Plus this was slightly more dangerous than the (multiple) times Kíli had decided that he wanted to eat Thorin’s braids, beads and all. When Thorin finally managed to release Kíli’s hold on the blade in question, he realised that it was one that Thorin had forged himself for Kíli and that Fíli had its twin.

Removing the blade seemed to have done the trick and Kíli came to a little bit, looking at his hand almost in surprise. When Thorin followed his gaze, he saw that Kíli had been holding on so tightly that there was a shallow cut welling with blood across the palm of his hand. Without saying a word, Thorin stood up and went to collect a clean rag, some water and a few choice medical items. The cut wasn’t deep but Thorin wasn’t going to take any chances; Kíli had never gone anywhere without that knife since Thorin had given it to him and even though he was meticulous about cleaning it, there was no way of knowing what lurked on the blade. Thorin worked in silence until Kíli’s hand was cleaned and wrapped to his satisfaction but then he couldn’t stay silent any more.

“Kíli, what’s going on? What’s the matter? I’m worried about you.”

That got a response out of Kíli but not the one that Thorin had been hoping for.

“’m sorry Uncle Thorin. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll just go back to my rooms.”

“Don’t do that, you weren’t disturbing me. It’s just documents from council meetings; they can wait.”

Thorin didn’t miss the way that Kíli tensed at the mention of the council. It also didn’t escape his notice that Kíli had called him Uncle for the first time in months. It was a welcome return and he hadn’t realised just how much he had missed being called it. When they had made up their minds and informed Dís and Thorin of their decision that they would be coming on the quest, Fíli and Kíli had made the other decision that they would call Thorin by his name and not refer to him by the familial title. They wanted to prove that they were on the quest because of their skills as warriors, because they wanted to support their King and not because they were his sister-sons. Thorin could understand that and had done his best to treat them as any other member of the company but it simply hadn’t been possible at the time.

“Kíli, let me help. Try and explain.”

Kíli did precisely that. He tried to explain. His mouth opened and closed several times as he floundered, trying to find the words to explain but failing miserably. Eventually he gave up trying to put it into words and simply pulled up the sleeves of the sleep tunic that he was wearing. His forearms and upper arms told the story themselves.

Thorin’s eyes took in the multitude of cuts in a variety of stages of healing. Some were already healed, nothing more than shiny white scars. Others were half scabbed over while others were newer still but in that in-between stage – not quite scabbing over but not still bleeding. That the majority of them were on Kíli’s non-dominant arm simply added another dimension to the story that Thorin already disliked; that Kíli had inflicted these wounds on himself.

“Oh Kíli.” Thorin’s heart ached for his youngest sister-son and, momentarily lost for words, he did the only thing that he could think of and gathered Kíli in against his chest. Kíli didn’t protest at all and simply collapsed against Thorin’s chest, just as he had when he was a tiny dwarfling. All Thorin could do was wrap his arms around Kíli as tightly as he could and wait. He didn’t have to wait long before the tears started, falling hotly on Thorin’s neck and soaking through his shirt. Thorin didn’t know how long he sat there and held Kíli as he sobbed but he knew that he hadn’t felt this helpless for a long time. Eventually Kíli’s tears slowed to a halt leaving the room silent but for the odd hitching sob and Thorin decided to attempt to find out what was going on with his youngest sister-son.

“Talk to me Kíli, what is this? Why are you doing this to yourself?”

When he saw that Kíli was struggling to formulate answers, Thorin tried a different tack. “Okay, how long has this been going on?”

“Since after we were attacked on the way to Rivendell?”

Thorin closed his eyes and held Kíli a little closer at the revelation. That was far longer than Thorin had thought.

“Why, Kíli? Why would you do this to yourself?”

Once again, Kíli tried to speak but failed, only able to emit a pained sound of distress. Not wanting to upset Kíli any further, Thorin simply hushed him and pressed a kiss to his forehead, just as he had when Kíli was a dwarfling.

“Take your time, Kíli. However long you need, I’ll wait but just answer me one question; does Fíli know?”

Kíli nodded, minutely but enough that Thorin felt the movement against his chest. That piece of information made Thorin relax fractionally, if Fíli knew about this then there was no way that he wasn’t taking steps to prevent it, although he couldn’t help but wonder how long Fíli had known what Kíli was doing. Twins didn’t happen with dwarrow pregnancies as they did with other races but Fíli and Kíli couldn’t be closer if they had shared Dís’ womb., Fíli had been protective of his younger brother from the instant that an hours old Kíli had been laid in his arms whilst Kíli had been Fíli’s shadow from the second that he could toddle after him. From then on, the two of them had been inseparable, almost to the exclusion of anyone else – not that there had been that many dwarflings their age in Ered Luin.

As the newest scions of the House of Durin, they had been given the best education possible given that they were basically in exile. All topics encompassing history and politics as well as a general education had been taught by Dis and Balin while Thorin and Dwalin had taken care of their weapons training and lessons and smithing. In an almost mirror image of the relationship between himself and Dis, Thorin could see that Fíli and Kíli complemented each other perfectly, one excelling in an area where the other was weaker and vice versa. Thorin was even fairly certain that Fíli and Kíli would end up ruling jointly and, despite everything that they had gone through to regain Erebor, Thorin couldn’t find it in himself to be disappointed even if it meant that the line of Durin died out. All he cared about was that his sister-sons were happy and thriving. Something that clearly wasn’t happening at the moment. Thorin couldn’t help but wish that Dis was here; she would know how to deal with her youngest whilst Thorin had never really been confident at dealing with displays of emotion.

Thorin was dreading telling Dís, and he knew that he had to tell Dís because the boys wouldn’t be able to. How could he tell her that the quest that he had allowed her sons to join had damaged Kíli so much that he felt he had to harm himself in a misguided attempt to atone for the things that he had done. Dís may have her sons back bearing relatively few physical scars, particularly considering what they had been through, but they weren’t hale and hearty. Fíli was better off than Kíli but neither was truly well and Thorin was more than aware that mental scars could take much more of a toll than physical ones.

“Talk to me, Kíli.”

“’m sorry, Thorin.”

“Don’t be sorry, Kíli. What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I’m a failure. I failed you.”

Thorin reeled back in shock, as though Kíli had physically struck him. Taking Kíli by the shoulders, he struggled to keep the anger from his voice as he all but demanded a reply. “You are nothing of the sort, Kíli. How can you think you’re a failure?”

“How can I not?” Kíli’s voice was hoarse from all of the sobbing and, despite the tears that he had already shed, fresh ones coursed down his cheeks. “How can you not see it?”

Thorin’s heart broke anew but he steeled himself; in the absence of Dis and Fíli, he had to be strong in order to help Kíli. “Okay, if you think you’re a failure then you have to tell me why.”

“What?”

“If you’re so convinced that you’re a failure, that you’ve been driven to do this, then you need to tell me why because I don’t understand.”

“There’s too many. You don’t have time.”

“No such thing. For you, Kíli – and for Fíli – I have all the time in the world.”

“It was my fault that we lost the ponies and got caught by the trolls; the warg riders nearly caught us after that. I didn’t do a good enough job at taking that warg rider out; if my aim had been better than his death wouldn’t have drawn the attention of the others. When Azog was going to kill you outside Goblin Town, I did nothing. I got shot escaping from Mirkwood and was of no use at all when we were in Laketown; you had to leave me behind. In the final battle, I couldn’t kill Azog, I couldn’t protect you or Fíli. I’m not worthy enough to carry the name of Durin. I’m a failure.” Kíli’s voice dropped lower, “they’re right, I’m not worthy to be one of your heirs.”

Kíli may have dropped his voice but Thorin heard every word and he instantly knew what had exacerbated Kíli’s feelings of failure. Among those who had returned to Erebor were those who had held positions of power and honour under Thror’s rule. These dwarrows, despite not having done anything to support the House of Durin at the Battle of Azanulbizar or on the Quest for Erebor or, indeed, at the Battle of the Five Armies as the final stand was apparently now known, had returned as soon as word got out that Erebor had been reclaimed expecting to resume their previous positions. It was these same dwarrows that had been vocal about Thorin needing a Queen and heirs of his own and Thorin had no doubts that they hadn’t hesitated in making these thoughts clear to Kíli.

“Listen to me, Kíli, and listen well. I may not say this enough but do not doubt my words. You are not a failure; nothing could be further from the truth. I could not be prouder of you or your brother and I could not love you more if I had sired you myself. Yes, you may have made a few mistakes – and I speak only of the ponies – but otherwise, your actions did you, your tutors and your family proud. Regardless of the opinions of some dwarrows, do not listen to a word that they say; you are not a failure Kíli. Not in my eyes, not in Fíli’s, the company’s and certainly not your mother’s. Please don’t harm yourself over this, for our sakes if not your own. Now, what would Fíli do, if you had these urges and he were here?”

“Umm,” Kíli wiped his face and nose in a move that made Thorin simultaneously wince and remember a toddler Kíli doing exactly the same thing. “Talk to me? Distract me? Hold me?” The latter was said in an almost embarrassed tone.

“All things I will do gladly. I want you to promise me Kíli. If you have these …. urges and Fíli isn’t here then you will come to me, as you did this evening.”

“But you have so many duties to do … even now I’m keeping you from work and …”

“Kíli. I may be King of Erebor and all that that entails but, first and foremost, I am an uncle and, as my sister-sons, you and your brother will always come before Erebor. Promise me, Kíli.”

“Promise, Uncle Thorin.”

The words were said into Thorin’s shirt and Thorin knew that this was merely a first step on the long road to recovery for Kíli, but he couldn’t help but feel hopeful. Starting to hum the song that he had sung to both boys – and to Dis – when they were younger and the Company had sung in Bilbo’s home that night so many months ago, he swore to himself that he would see Kíli through this, as he carded his fingers through hair so like his own. Kíli – and Fíli – had given up so much to achieve Thorin’s dreams, including nearly giving their lives for his, but Erebor was nothing if he didn’t have them beside him to savour the triumph.

No, Thorin would see that Kíli believed he was worthy if it was the last thing that he did.

**Author's Note:**

> If you would prefer to comment on LJ you can do so [here](http://vix-spes.livejournal.com/274014.html) or on DW [here](https://vix-spes.dreamwidth.org/265069.html)


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